Come Out and Play
by carryonmy-waywardson
Summary: John and Bobby are in their twenties and they share an apartment together; Bobby catches John "in the act" one night.


**Description:** Young (in their twenties) John and Bobby share a place together.  
**Warnings:** masturbation, discovery, kissing, mutual masturbation/jerking each other off, some light nipple play.**  
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John sleeps on his best friend's couch night in and night out. He doesn't have enough money to pay for his own goddamn place, and Bobby's is paid off — one hundred percent rent free. Not to mention, there are perks to living with your best friend; for one, John already knows all of Bobby's nasty little habits and they like the same kind of food, which means less time grocery shopping (and arguing about dinner) and more time pigging the fuck out.

Yeah, living with your best friend is nice until you walk in on him naked, on his knees on the middle of his bed, cock in hand. The first time John walked in on Bobby doing that, he'd only been staying there for two nights. He thought he heard a noise in the other room and went to investigate, only to find his pal jerkin' on the middle of his bed, head thrown back in some obscene gesture. Of course, when John had walked in on Bobby, he had taken a little too long to retreat, to turn back and get the hell outta dodge — long story short, Bobby saw him, stopped what he was doing, and tried to play it off like it was nothing.

Now, John walks with caution; he creeps around the house quietly, pressing his ear against the door to Bobby's room, listening for any sort of noise. What he's listening for, when he does this, is the bed springs squeaking, maybe some kind of throaty moan, Bobby's breathing sped up — anything. When he hears nothing like that, John knocks on the door, waits for the okay, and goes in like he previously set out to do.

But he doesn't understand that the privacy thing goes two ways, as does the walking-in-on-your-friend-jacking off thing. He's never had the need to lay on the couch, spread out on the cushions with his dick in hand — he usually takes care of it in the shower. But one night, John wakes up from a dream he loses the moment his eyes snap open, cock rock hard in his briefs.

He pants, looking at the clock — it's well past two in the morning — and decides that it's too late for Bobby to get up, even if he's just passing through to get something to drink, or getting up to piss. John figures that, if he gets caught, he can just toss a blanket over him, pretend to be asleep and call it a day — or night, rather.

Wetting his lips, John lifts the blanket and draws it back, folding it over his feet. He looks down at his body, hands moving over the sculpted abs he prides himself on, letting his fingers dip underneath the waistband of his briefs. The fabric lifts, relieving him of the pressure, and John lifts his hips slightly, pulling the fabric down further, letting it fall around his ankles.

A hand moves to the base of his cock and John grips it, hips bucking forward from the sensation, his head tipping back against the arm of the couch. His eyes flutter shut and John lets out a small moan, his hips rocking back and forth, hand moving up his shaft in an almost-but-not-yet unbearable pace.

The springs in the couch squeak when John starts fucking his fist a little harder; his hips snap forward, thumb brushing across the head of his cock and John arches off the couch, moaning loudly. The noise isn't _quite_ loud enough to wake Bobby, but John bites down on his lower lip and lets his head fall forward anyway, looking down the hall, waiting for the tell-tale sign that he's woken Bobby up.

No noise comes from down the hall and no silhouetted figure is coming toward him; John lets his head fall against the back of the couch, moving his free hand down. His fingertips brush across his balls slowly, barely teasing them as the glide down further, ending up underneath his ass. John is no stranger to having something there, but it's been a while since it's been his own hand — so he goes slow.

Spreading his legs as wide as he can, John sets his feet on the arm of the couch and lifts his hips, sucking in a deep breath as he moves his hand down. His fingers brush against his entrance, barely pressing in before he falls against the couch again, making more nose than he intended. Ignoring the noise and focusing on teasing himself, John strokes his cock as he pushes two fingers in, dry, and whines loudly.

The whine drowns out the sound of Bobby's door opening and John is too far gone to pay attention at this point. His fingers move in slowly, inching deep inside until they're as far as John can get them, and he brushes the pad of his thumb along his balls. A moan rips from his chest, low and rough, and John cants his hips, pressing his ass back against his hand, trying to get the digits in deeper.

And all the while, Bobby is standing at the mouth of the hall, his eyes wide and locked on the scene in front of him. He lifts a hand, scrubbing it against his stubble, before moving it up and pulling at his sleep-mussed hair. When he winces from the pain, Bobby deduces that no, he isn't asleep and what's happening in front of his eyes is not a hallucination.

He battles with himself, wondering if he should tell John or not; debating just standing there, enjoying the show, instead of telling his friend. Chewing on the inside of his lip, Bobby takes a step forward, the floorboard creaking underneath him, and John stills on the couch, hips off the cushion, fingers buried in his ass, and his hand wrapped around the middle of his cock.

They lock eyes and John's face grows hot; he pulls his fingers out of himself, grabs the blanket and throws it over his body. The hand on his cock moves away and John sits up, scooting back to lean against the arm of the couch, his eyes never leaving Bobby's.

"Hi," Bobby starts the conversation, stepping closer until he can smell sex pouring off John in waves, the scent making him shiver. He swallows hard, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt, trying to pull it down over his already-hardening cock, but it does no good. Giving up, Bobby moves his hands up and crosses his arms over his chest, head canted to the side, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

And John doesn't understand how Bobby can just_ stand there_, instead of raging.

"Um — hi." John replies back in a tight, quiet voice, his hands fidgeting with the blanket that's covering his lower half — and, subsequently, rubbing against his cock, which is almost unbearable and he has to bite back a moan.

Bobby shifts his weight from one foot to the other, before cracking a grin. "Nice to see you've finally broken in the new couch," he says, voice quiet and firm, as he walks toward the couch more, moving to sit at the foot.

"Excuse me?" John raises an eyebrow, his ears and neck burning.

"Jerking off on my couch," Bobby laughs and shakes his head, lifting a hand to his hair, carding his fingers through it. "I figured you haven't done it yet, just didn't know I'd walk in on you when you finally got 'round to it."

If Bobby could fully see his face, John's certain that he would probably laugh at the blush that's fleeting over his cheeks. He tries to calm himself down, keeping his hands on his knees, though they want to migrate up his legs, want to touch his cock.

Swallowing hard, John laughs softly and shakes his head. "Yeah, I uh — usually leave that for the shower. S'much easier in there, and there's no way in hell you'd walk in on me in _the bathroom_."

The two of them laugh in unison and fall silent the same way; Bobby's teeth worrying over his lower lip, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He looks at John up and down, his entire body going warm — his groin being the warmest of all. Part of him wants to tell John to keep going, that he'll just go back to bed and pretend like nothing happened, but the majority wants him to just tell John to keep going, to ignore his presence.

"Pretend like I'm not here," Bobby says, voice low and heady, almost seductive, as he leans back against the couch, pulling a leg onto the cushions. He moves his hand down and rubs the heel against the front of his boxers, swallowing thickly as he watches John lift the blanket.

It peels back and Bobby groans when he sees John's body in the soft light coming from the kitchen. It's gorgeous, John's body is, and Bobby bites back another groan, rubbing the head of his cock through the thin, already dampened fabric.

"You're sure?" John asks, but it doesn't sound like a question — doesn't _feel_ like one to Bobby, and he nods his head slowly, wetting his lips.

"Yeah, yeah - sure. We're friends, right?" Bobby laughs and this seems to calm John because, right after Bobby's words die away, he leans back and grips his cock again. When his friend leans back, Bobby's eyes roam up and down his body (which is more visible than before) and he slips his own hand into his boxers.

A groan racks John's body and he arches off the couch, trying his best to keep his gaze on Bobby, to watch what he's doing. When he starts stroking his cock, however, John's eyes flutter shut and he breathes in deeply, moving his hand down his stomach slowly.

"God, John," Bobby moans, words soft and barely audible, but John catches them and it sends a shiver down his spine; he's never heard his name come from Bobby's mouth like _that_ before. It's all new to him, this mutual masturbating with your best friend, and John's not sure if he wants it to be _just that_. Getting an idea, he sits up and gets to his knees, hands moving to either of Bobby's hips.

Before the other man can say anything, John kisses him; it's soft, barely there, their lips just barely touching, but it goes straight to his cock, somehow making him harder. The breath falling against his mouth is hot and tastes like beer, which makes John shiver once more before tilting his head. He presses his lips firmly against Bobby's and kisses him hard, putting as much passion as he can behind it, his hand moving down to find Bobby's cock.

Bobby moans a quick '_John_,' which falls into the kiss and comes out as a mumbled _'mmf'_ sound, which only goes straight to John's head — both of them. Their first kiss is slow and John can feel Bobby's beard scrubbing against his own; he moans into his friend's mouth and grips him through the fabric that's keeping him hidden.

The moment John grips his cock, Bobby arches and pulls away from the kiss, dropping his head forward, rubbing his stubble against John's. It's an amazing feeling and Bobby moans again, louder this time, before pressing a kiss to John's shoulder, nibbling it lightly.

"Bobby," John breathes as he turns, brushing the tip of his nose against the shell of Bobby's ear, his breath falling hot against it. "Sure we should do this?" His voice is uncertain and his fingers are shaking as he strokes Bobby through his boxers, thumbing across the head, swiping some precome off the fabric.

Nodding his head, Bobby moves his hands to the small of John's back, fingertips digging into the smooth skin, his teeth grazing along his shoulder. "Yeah," he pants lightly, hips bucking forward, into John's hand, "I'm sure. Want this, John — want _you_."

"Ngh — okay." The words are barely a whisper and John falls back, pulling Bobby on top of him. Both of John's hands go to Bobby's hips and he pushes his boxers down slowly, hands working around to feel his friend's ass and the backs of his thighs. A shudder passes through John's body again and he sucks in a quick, deep breath, exhaling slowly.

"Won't do anything extreme this time, okay?" John's words are soft, falling against the hollow of Bobby's throat and he feels the other man nod, their beards rubbing together again. John thinks that, if he were to die in the next half hour, that he would do so in complete and utter bliss, from the feeling of stubble scrubbing against his own.

One hand moves up and underneath Bobby's shirt, fingertips skirting along his side, stopping underneath his rib cage; John can feel Bobby's heart pounding and wonders, dimly, if Bobby can feel the beating of his own. A smile takes over his lips and John turns his head, pulling back a bit to catch Bobby's lips with his own, moaning against them.

Their hands find each other's cock almost simultaneously and John rocks his hips forward, moaning into Bobby's mouth, swallowing all of his noises. The beginning strokes are slow and determined, Bobby stopping every few seconds to brush his thumb underneath the head of John's cock, which makes him stop the kiss to gasp.

After a while, they both lose rhythm and John strokes Bobby's cock harder, moving the hand up, thumb rubbing against his nipple. This elicits a loud moan from Bobby as he pulls away from the kiss, his head falling back. His hips jerk forward, the hand on John's cock stilling as he tries to catch his breath, gasping and panting.

"Shh, I've got you," John whispers, his voice broken and nearly breathless. "Won't let anything happen to you, Bobby." As he speaks, John tweaks Bobby's nipple between his thumb and forefinger, stroking him harder when he moans out. This causes Bobby to squeeze his own cock lightly and John swallows hard, moving his hips against his friend's hand.

"Gonna come," Bobby pants, sweat dripping down the side of his face, cascading down his neck. John nods and grits his teeth, leaning in to lick a stripe up the side of Bobby's throat, moaning against the base.

His hand quickens, the pace is erratic and messy, but it's getting Bobby closer, so John doesn't let up; he squeezes the base a few times, pulling half-screams from the man hovering over him. "Come for me, Bobby; come with me. Wanna feel it, c'mon." John encourages Bobby until he can no longer find his voice; nothing but moans and pants, whimpers and small whines come from John's throat.

The two of them moan in unison and Bobby's the first to let go; his hips snap forward — once, twice, three times, before he's coming hard. John's name is a mantra on his lips, coming in between pants and '_oh god_'s, stuck between moans and other curse words.

"Fuck —" John grits his teeth again as he feels his body tighten, his hand falls away from Bobby's cock, wrapping around his wrist. He guides Bobby's hand up and down until his orgasm hits and John's vision goes white-hot, his back arches off the bed.

Nearly screaming Bobby's name, he comes hard and pants, moving his hand from Bobby's wrist to his hair, tangling his come-soaked fingers in it; he knows that his friend will complain later, but right now John doesn't care. As he pants, John feels Bobby's lips against his throat and jaw, peppering his skin with small, wet kisses that make him tingle all over.

"Was good," John manages to speak; manages to pull a sentence together, albeit incomplete. The two-word sentence makes Bobby laugh, soft and warm in John's ear and he nods, agreeing with it before laying on top of John, their bodies molding together perfectly.


End file.
